


Dissonance

by lavieenbelle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Male-Female Friendship, Mental Health Issues, POV Hermione Granger, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29453955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavieenbelle/pseuds/lavieenbelle
Summary: ❝we exist in the present tense.❞Psychological studies have shown that sleep deprivation can mitigate the effects of PTSD.Locked in the Gryffindor Common Room after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and Hermione will do anything to keep their demons at bay.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	Dissonance

It seemed to be as good a day as any for a funeral. The sun shone and the birds chirped and the summer breeze kissed Hermione's cheeks as she stood above the courtyard, surveying the devastation that had been wreaked on Hogwarts. An excellent day for a funeral.

No, not a funeral. A mass burial. An impersonal, informal ritual that would provide no closure for Fred Weasley's family. Or for Lupin, or Tonks, or Snape.

The war had ended. The good side had won. And yet, Hermione felt nothing. No closure. No joy. No sadness. No grief.

She raked her nails up her forearm, tearing open her freshly scabbed _Mudblood_ scar. Her lip curled at the pain that shot through her nerves, but her eyes remained dry.

Her heart contracted. She wrinkled her nose and dug her jagged fingernails into the scar further. Why couldn't she cry? Directly beneath her, in the courtyard, Ginny and Luna kneeled, curled into each other, shoulders wracked with sobs as they comforted each other. She'd even caught Harry crying by a portrait of Dumbledore. 

The sun was setting over the lake, marking the end of another day. The world moved on, with or without Voldemort. With or without Fred Weasley. With or without Remus Lupin, or Nymphadora Tonks, or Severus Snape. And the world would go on, with or without Hermione Granger. The thought was comforting; tempting, almost.

She dropped her hands. She wouldn't leave the world behind just yet.

The Battle of Hogwarts had stretched well into the morning. After Voldemort died, Ministry officials began carting Death Eaters and their accomplices away, presumably to Azkaban. Most of the students had cleared out. The Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's Army remained behind, their adrenaline still pumping too hard to relax for more than twenty minutes at a time.

Besides, some, namely Harry and Hermione, had no home and no family to return to anymore.

After several hours of removing debris, taking account of the dead, and consoling her classmates, Hermione felt as though she stood on a precipice; a precarious scale tipping between triumph and despair.

She didn't know which future terrified her more.

The shadows beneath Harry's eyes had turned deep purple, like a bruise, but Hermione knew he wouldn't take a break until sleep took him captive or his work was finished. Ron had already disappeared—probably to the kitchens with his brothers. If they had to mourn, they might as well mourn with full bellies.

Hermione could slip away into the shadows and into the silence for a short nap.

Her mind raced as she climbed the steps to Gryffindor Tower. _A two-hour nap_ , she bargained with herself. Then, she would finish helping the Order of the Phoenix, find access to the internet, book a flight to Australia, and find her parents. She had lost so many people over the past year, it was only fair that these two were returned to her. 

The portrait hung wide open. A trail of muddy footprints led up the stairs and into the common room. Hermione looked over her shoulder and withdrew her wand. All of the Death Eaters had surely retreated by now, right? 

She gripped the empty frame as she entered the common room, letting the portrait fall shut behind her.

"Wait!" A voice called from the corner. A pale blonde boy with shadows in his eyes appeared in front of her. "Don't let it-"

Too late. The portrait had sealed shut. 

Hermione retreated, lifting her wand. "What are you doing here?"

"Way to _fucking_ go," Malfoy said, throwing his arms up and tossing his wand across the room. 

Hesitantly, Hermione lowered her own wand, but kept her fingers curled tightly around it. As Draco paced the length of the room, she edged closer to the exit and pushed against the back of the portrait. It didn't move. She tried again. 

She turned to face the back wall, keeping an eye on Draco from the corner of her eye. His footsteps served as a metronome as she pounded on the back of the painting. "Why. Won't. It. Open?!" she growled, punctuating each word with the slam of her fist on the barrier between her and the outside world. The only barrier between her and the rest of her life, free of this endless and senseless death and destruction.

"That won't solve anything." He'd ceased his pacing. Hermione was sure that nothing made Draco happier than proving her wrong, but for once, he sounded just as miserable as she felt.

She let out a huff, raked her hand through her curls, and landed one final kick at the base of the wall.

Draco stood behind her, frowning with his arms crossed over her chest.

She averted her gaze and caught sight of a window across the room. With a satisfied smirk, she strode toward it. 

"It doesn't open," he said. "I've already tried."

"It doesn't— are you a wizard or aren't you?" she scoffed. " _Diffindo_." Nothing. " _Reducto_." A jet of light flew from her wand, but the window remained intact. "You're joking."

"I told you," Draco said, following her. She ignored him. On the table in the center of the room sat a candelabra. Without hesitation, Hermione gripped it by the handle, lifted her arm, and threw it with all her remaining strength.

Not even a scratch. 

The metal clattered against the glass and fell to the floor.

"I imagine there used to be an issue with Gryffindors trying to sneak out of the castle at night," Draco suggested. She ran her finger over the edges of the windowpane, searching for a crack, just a hairline fracture. It was sealed shut.

"So we're stuck here," Hermione said, leaving the candelabra on the carpet. She ran a hand over the collar of her jacket, considering their options. The dormitories were big enough that she and Draco wouldn't have to speak or even see each other. The most pressing issue was letting the outside world know that the Fat Lady had left her post, and they were trapped. How long until someone wandered by the tower? And even then, how much longer until the Fat Lady returned? 

"I can't believe you." Draco forced air out of his nose and stepped away from her. "Don't they call you the smartest witch of our age?" he muttered. 

"Brightest," she corrected automatically. He lifted a pale eyebrow and she immediately ducked her head to hide her blush. "If you weren't here in the first place-" 

"Then you would have been trapped here alone anyway. You're the only one to blame," he spat. "I'm exhausted. Wake me up when Potter's back to save the day again." He cursed under his breath as he moved even further from her. 

"Fine, whatever. I'll be in the girls' dormit-" She cut herself off, feeling her heart sink. Sleep would have to wait. "We can't sleep." 

Draco made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. "I'll be damned if I let you of all people tell me what I can-"

"Sleep enhances memory formation. Neural pathways are formed and replayed while we sleep, therefore, when we wake up the memories are embedded, and the neurons can't-"

"English, Granger?" Draco asked. While she'd been talking, he moved yet again, and it took her a moment to relocate him. He lounged in a red velvet chair, one ankle casually slung over the opposite knee while his chin rested in his hand. "I can hardly hear you behind that enormous bird's nest on your head."

Hermione scowled as she wrangled her curls behind her ears. "If we stay awake until tomorrow morning, we might avoid developing post-traumatic stress disorder."

He ran a hand through his hair and looked at the window. While they'd argued, the sun had set. "I've already been awake for almost thirty-six hours."

She wrinkled her nose. _Poor, spoiled Draco Malfoy._ "I haven't slept properly since August," she snapped back.

He curled his lip. "Sounds like you're already sleep-deprived. I'm not sure this will help you."

She turned her wand over in her hand. Other than Harry, her wand was the only thing that had been with her for the last seven years. It had helped her survive trolls, and werewolves, and Death Eaters, and Professor Umbridge. It would help her survive the night. "Fine. Sleep if you like, but I don't trust you to not kill me while I'm unconscious."

He scoffed. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have a long time ago." He sat on the largest armchair and fluffed the cushion. "Besides, I'm not stupid enough to kill the Gryffindor war heroine the day after she saved the world." 

She wanted to laugh at that. _Saved the world._

Evidently, _the world_ in Draco Malfoy's opinion didn't include Lavender Brown. Or Colin Creevey. Or even Vincent Crabbe. 

"Harry's the one who killed Voldemort." 

"I'm aware, and I'm sure we won't stop hearing about it for the rest of our lives." 

She thinned her lips and shook her head. "You know, it was your mother who lied to-"

"No offense," Draco said, leaning forward, "but if I have to sit here and listen to you drone on and on all night, I'm almost guaranteed to drift off." 

She rolled her eyes. Draco Malfoy irritated her on her best days; the sleep deprivation only enhanced the "Do whatever you wish. I'll find a way to occupy myself upstairs."

She hadn't had a proper night's sleep since August. What was one more night? She took one more glance around the room. Draco's wand still sat on the floor. Whatever he was doing in Gryffindor Tower, it didn't appear to require magic. Her bones ached as she stepped forward, and the ground seemed to sway beneath her as she balanced on the first stair leading to the girls' dormitories. All she wanted was to crawl between clean sheets and fade away, but she'd need to wait a few more hours. 

"If we're going to be stuck here, awake all night, we need some food," he said, before she could go any further. Hermione paused, tilting her chin. Draco now stood, hands in his pockets, his lanky figure decidedly less threatening than she remembered. Or maybe she'd just grown tougher. "Do you have any Pepperup Potion around here?"

She retraced her steps, returning to the level on which Draco stood, and lowered herself onto a chair at the center table. "It still baffles me that wizards haven't caught onto coffee yet," she muttered, and pointed to a trunk in the corner of the room. He followed her finger and flipped the latch. "We used to keep some in there for late-night study sessions, but-"

"Empty."

She leaned her elbows on the table. "I wasn't here last year to keep it refilled."

"Are all Gryffindors completely helpless without you?" he muttered, slamming the trunk closed.

Hermione jumped in her seat and tucked her hands beneath her thighs. "Check the second drawer in that cupboard," she whispered. Her voice rang hollow and strangled in her ears. She cleared her throat. It seemed her fear had not died with Voldemort. 

Draco lifted a green and pink Honeydukes box and returned to the couch. "Score." 

She observed him shoveling chocolate into his mouth for a moment longer before reaching for one of the tomes on the table. Flipping it to a random page, she studied the anatomy of an Abraxas. She had to drag her finger underneath the words in order to keep her place. 

Draco let out a soft moan as he swallowed another piece of chocolate. Hermione looked up and glared at him. He didn't notice.

She blinked rapidly and reread a paragraph about the differences in mating patterns across equine creatures. Every few sentences, she lost her focus and had to restart. 

Draco coughed. 

She slammed the heavy cover closed and shoved it away from herself. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

He gestured to the box of chocolate cauldrons in his lap. "Trying to eat in silence." 

_Silence_ , she swallowed a scoff. _You're the one making all the noise._

"I mean," she corrected, impatiently jerking her knee up and down, "what are you doing _here_? At Hogwarts. In the Gryffindor dorms."

"I thought Gryffindor would all be out celebrating their golden child. Hoped to find some peace and quiet while you were all out."

She lifted her head. The moon was no longer visible from her seat; it had passed its apex. Their suffering would soon be over. "The deaths of our friends and family aren't causes for celebration."

He leaned back, one arm spread across the length of the couch, as he examined the final cauldron. "Perhaps not," he conceded. "But the end of all that senseless death surely is." 

Hermione took another look around the room, at the torn-up books strewn about, at the ash scattered across the floor, the piles of silver candlesticks and priceless artwork. 

"You're not here for the quiet," she accused him. He shrugged and took another bite of chocolate, unbothered. "Did you come up here for spoils?" 

He paused his chewing, his gunmetal eyes flashing. "Spoils go to the victor. Whoever won this war, it wasn't me." 

"Revenge, then?" She stood and gestured to the Gryffindor valuables. "For your father."

Shoving the empty box of chocolate aside, he leaned forward and bared his teeth. "My father will die in prison. He has no use for silly trinkets from this school."

She repositioned herself on the armchair across from Draco, and wrapped a red and gold knitted blanket over her shoulders. 

"Is the war really over?" she asked. 

Draco set his jaw. "Voldemort's dead, isn't he?"

"But that doesn't mean there aren't others who believe in upholding Pureblood supremacy."

He sighed and leaned back, crossing his legs and spreading his arms. "You can't play the victim forever," he said. "Besides, you're far from helpless." He gestured to his nose, which still appeared slightly crooked. Why hadn't he fixed it? 

She stretched her arms across the back of her chair and tried to mirror his confident, easy posture, but feared succumbing to slumber if she let herself get too comfortable. She moved again, so she sat upright, hands folded tightly in her lap. Draco followed her every move. "I won't apologize for punching you."

"I didn't ask you to."

His apathy was worse than any anger he could have shown her. 

She sighed and let her eyes flutter closed. _No_. She jumped to her feet. She wouldn't fall asleep. "You can punch me back now, if it would make you feel better."

He cocked his head and scanned the sight before him. She knew her hair was a wreck, matted with dirt and blood. Her tattered and torn jacket hung from her frame. She lifted her chin, hoping to make herself appear a bit less pathetic. Draco shook his head and sank back into his seat. "My family has put you through enough, don't you think?"

"Questions like that only encourage my _victim-complex_ ," she said. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and looked out the window. They only needed to make it until sunrise. "Your family is the reason my best friend is alive."

"It could have just as easily gone the other way." 

"But it didn't," she said. What was the use of focusing on the what-ifs? There far too many realities she already had to dread. 

She looked longingly at the couch, thought of one of the empty, goose feathered mattresses upstairs.

Then she thought of George, who would have to celebrate his next birthday knowing his brother would never grow older. Of Harry, who would one day have to explain to his godson that his parents had died to protect him. Of her own future, hypothetical children, who might have questions about the strange scar on her left forearm.

If Hermione could spare herself from even a fraction of the inevitable pain, she would do whatever it took. She patted her cheeks and resumed her pacing. 

"You'll tire yourself out more if you keep moving," Draco said. 

She stopped. She wasn't sure whether that was true, but when he patted the cushion next to him she found it impossible to resist. 

"When I left Hogwarts last summer, I didn't realize I wouldn't be seeing it again until now," she said, running her finger over the fraying scarlet upholstery. "I wish I'd appreciated it more." She let her head lull onto the cushion. There was no reason for her to speak so candidly to Draco Malfoy of all people, other than to stay awake. But at that moment, she couldn't think of a better reason to keep her mouth shut, so she continued. "So many memories on this couch; we never had any clue it would come to this."

Draco jumped up from the couch. "That's disgusting," he said with a shiver. "I don't want to hear about your sexual escapades with that freckled Weasel-"

She gasped and threw a gold embroidered pillow at him. "That is not what I meant!"

He dodged the projectile and sat on the armchair opposite her.

She tucked her legs beneath her and clutched one of the pillows to her chest. Her shoulders ached as she stretched her muscles around the cushion. That two-hour nap was more tempting than ever. "My mum and dad used to send me Muggle snacks that Harry and Ron had never tried. We would stay up all night eating them on this couch while Ron taught Harry and me silly spells that Flitwick never would. It was all totally innocent." She smiled to herself as she rested her chin on her shoulder. She turned back to Draco and flashed a mischievous grin. "That chair on the other hand," she said and jerked her chin in his direction. "That's the chair on which I lost my virginity."

Once again, he jumped up. "For fuck's sake, Granger."

She laughed and rolled over onto her side. Once again, her closed of their own accord, but the sound of Draco's heels clicking across the cobblestone floor forced them open. She sat up. There would be no rest for the weary. Not yet.

He bent to scoop up his wand and stood by the window, looking out over the grounds. Silently, he cast _Lumos_ , and drew circles in the air with the light. 

Staying seated, Hermione craned her neck so she could see out the small glass window. Stars still dotted the sky. She could see them so clearly, here in the Highlands. She would miss them when she returned to London.

"Do you ever feel like you haven't suffered enough?"

The light at the end of Draco's wand extinguished, so he was lit only by the dim firelight. His long lashes cast flickering shadows across his high, pale cheekbones. "What a ridiculous question."

She sank back into the cushions. Tucking her knees into her chest, she blinked. Why on God's green earth would she have thought that Draco Malfoy of all people would understand? "I didn't mean it like-"

"I know what you meant," Draco said. "It's still absurd."

She rested her cheek on her knees and turned to look at him. He went back to playing with his wand. "I won't show you any pity, Granger," he said, not meeting her eye. "In fact, I believe I'm contractually obligated to be cruel to you."

Conspicuously, she wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I think you can consider your contract null and void."

His mouth tightened as he suppressed a smirk. "I'll level with you. We'll call it indifference."

She inhaled and let her lungs expand until it pained her. She welcomed the ache, the burn. She needed it. A few hours of pain now to spare her from unending, undying misery in the future. She'd had enough nightmares to last a lifetime.

Being locked away with Draco would be the last one. 

"Survivor's guilt doesn't help anyone. It won't bring anyone back." Storm clouds gathered in his eyes. How many people had Draco watched die over the years?

"Ever since the Triwizard Tournament when Vol- The Dark- You Kn-" She took a deep breath. She'd been saying his name for three years now. She wasn't afraid of his name in his life, she wouldn't fear it in his death. "Ever since Vol-Voldemort killed Cedric, Harry's been having nightmares and flashbacks. And every year since, it gets worse. And I know it's just this one night, and staying awake won't erase the damage of the past seven years, but after seven years of hiding and fighting, don't we deserve any sort of relief?" She tucked her chin to her chest, letting her curls fall, forming a curtain between them. She tucked a strand behind her ear. "He's dead. He doesn't deserve our fear or our nightmares any longer." 

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out," he said with a sneer. 

She frowned and folded her arms over her chest. "I don't." 

Silence submerged them. For a moment, Hermione almost thought Draco had fallen asleep. Then he spoke. "I won't pretend to know how you're feeling, but when I was younger, my mother used to tell me I had to choose between worrying about the past or preparing for the future. We don't have the capacity to do both." Hermione furrowed her brow. Her mind was too cloudy, too exhausted, to work out the meaning of his words. Before she could ask for clarification, Draco clapped his hands and stood. "Now, if you're done wallowing in self-pity and self-loathing, why don't we find a way to entertain ourselves?" 

"Entertain yourself," she said, crossing her arms on the table and resting her chin over them. She kept her eyes fixed on the unopenable window, unblinking until they burned. The sound of his footsteps echoed on the stone floor. A quiet knock on wood. And then, a single note on a piano. Hermione blinked. 

She craned her neck to look at Draco. He'd transfigured the empty wooden chest into a beautiful baby grand. Hermione stood, despite her sore muscles' protests and moved to stand beside him.

"You know it?" he asked. 

She nodded. "My mum taught me that song," she said, watching his long fingers deftly navigate the ivory keys. She tapped the rhythm of Clair de Lune on her thighs along with him. "I didn't know you could play." As the words left her tongue, she flushed. _Of course_ she didn't know he could play; she didn't know anything about him, apart from the obvious.

It took all of her effort to keep her eyes from roaming from his hands to his forearm.

He scooted away from the center of the bench, and Hermione dropped beside him. "I didn't go to Muggle primary school," he said. "My mother needed to keep me occupied during Death Eater meetings somehow." 

Hermione froze, her knuckles going white as she clenched her fingers in her lap. Draco lifted his hands from the keys. "Sorry." 

She shook her head and played one note. "Keep playing," she whispered. 

He ran his fingers over his half of the piano before placing them back in his lap. He bumped his shoulder against hers. Her shoulders tensed reflexively. 

Draco bent his neck and whispered, "Your turn." She relaxed into the softness of his words. He'd already assured her that she wouldn't come to any harm at his hand. The war had ended. They were all on the same side now, and Draco was just as lost as the rest of them. 

She tapped a key, and half-heartedly played a one-handed tune she learned as a child. But the feeling of control, of her fingers flying across the keyboard, producing immediate results, intoxicated her. She closed her eyes and allowed her hands to move across the piano by memory without missing a single chord as she gave herself over to the melody. 

It wasn't until she finished the song with an ostentatious trill that Draco spoke, reminding her of his presence. 

"Now you're just showing off," he muttered.

She opened her eyes, laughing, and slowed the tempo as she began again. "It's been a while since I've played. I'm a little rusty."

Once again, Draco nudged her shoulder with his, pushing her off her balance. With a heavy hand, slammed all ten of his fingers onto the keys closest to him. A dissonant, anomalous chord echoed throughout the empty stone chamber. 

She laughed and returned to playing an improvised tune under Draco's watchful eye. 

"Not bad," he said. 

"That might be the greatest compliment you've ever paid me," she said. 

Without realizing what she was doing, Hermione's fingers stretched across Draco, playing an old familiar song. She melted in the comfort of the old tune, like it was a worn blanket. It reminded her of love, of protection. 

Until she recognized it. _Für Elise_. She slammed her fingers down on the keys and stood. Draco jumped, startled, and stumbled over the piano bench as he moved to stand beside her. 

Her chest rose and fell as she looked out the window, wishing the sun would rise.

Perseverant as she was, her will would never be strong enough to change the orbit.

"What's wrong?" he asked, dragging a hand down her arm. She tore away from him, nearly tripping over her feet as she stumbled away from him. 

"Nothing," she panted. Everything. She was trapped in the Gryffindor common room with Draco Malfoy, playing the song she taught to Ron so many months ago in Grimmuald Place, while all of her friends were outside, cleaning up the wreckage and mourning the dead. 

She should have gone to sleep. She should live with this pain for the rest of her life. That was the price one paid for survival.

"Hey, come on." Draco reached for her hand. This time, she didn't have the strength to pull away. 

"I'm so tired." She bowed her head and rubbed the heels of her free hand into her eye. "Draco, I'm so fucking tired."

"Granger." He lifted her chin, eyes beseeching. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. He cupped her cheek. "We're in this together. Stay awake."

She groaned softly and lowered her head again, resting the crown of her head against his chest. He took her by the shoulders and forced her to look him in the eye. "You're strong enough. Stay awake for me, Hermione. Don't give up yet." 

Hermione looked up, eyes full of unshed tears that refused to spill, no matter how much she wished they would. Draco's eyes widened, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Come sit down. The night is almost over," he said, taking her elbow and leading her back to the couch. 

The cushions sank under her weight and shifted as Draco sat beside her, pushing them together. She didn't mind. "We almost did it," she said. 

He lifted an arm around her shoulder and tucked her into his side. "We will. Just stay awake." He rested his head on hers and hummed the tune of Clair de Lune. Taking a deep breath, Hermione steeled herself against the urge to go under. They were almost done, and she had no choice but to push all of her regrets aside. 

She closed her eyes, tempted by sleep's siren call. _Only for a minute_ , she told herself. 

His humming stopped. She didn't notice, entranced by the steady beating of his heart. "I am, I am, I am," she mused.

"Hmm?" Draco lifted his head.

"It's Sylvia Plath," she said. " _The Bell Jar_."

"Never heard of it." His voice was thick with the threat of sleep.

She kept her eyes closed. "It's about survival. _I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart,_ " she recited. " _I am, I am, I am." I am._ "Despite everything we've been through, and everything that tried to destroy us, we exist in the present tense."

He hummed once more. The vibration in his chest lulled Hermione, seducing her into oblivion.

She let her head roll forward.

When her chin hit her chest, she jerked awake. Eyes wide, she jumped to her feet and took three steps forward. The sky was still dark. They still had at least an hour to go. She took three more steps. She wouldn't let herself stop moving until the sun had fully risen. She and Draco-

 _Draco_. She spun to face him, but froze before she turned all the way around.

A sliver of light drew a line from the exit to the couch where they lay. The portrait had opened.

She squinted. Could she be imagining things in her delirium? Had she and Draco both simply missed it before? She shook her head. No matter. "Draco!" she gripped his shoulders. He groaned softly and leaned away from her touch. She touched his cheek. "Draco! Wake up!" He let out a soft groan as he lifted his head and blinked. "It's open."

Lifting his to reveal a pool of drool on the pillow, Draco groaned. "What's open?"

"The door!" she said, tugging him to his feet. When he didn't move quickly enough, Hermione dropped his hand and raced to the open portrait. 

The frame where the Fat Lady usually resided was empty. 

He rushed behind her, using her shoulders to balance himself. Breathless, Hermione took a tentative step into the hallway, as if she feared it would be a trap. 

But they both passed through the threshold, uninhibited, unencumbered. She relaxed her shoulders as she descended the staircase, feeling Draco's steady and warm presence right behind her. 

The halls of Hogwarts remained silent as she led the way through the castle, to the mezzanine over the courtyard. They approached the ledge slowly, watching the expanse of the castle grounds open up as they neared the railing. In the half-light, the two of them hung in a fragile balance between dark and light, between their futures and their past. 

The first rays of the morning sun appeared, tipping scales, cementing the inevitable and eliminating the possibilities. 

"We can rest now," she said, threading her fingers through his. "The sun is coming up."

He rested his head atop hers and squeezed her hand, lingering longer than he should have. Though it was spring, Hermione shivered in the early morning breeze. Sunshine glinted off the lake, illuminating the remainder of the carnage. The Order had cleared the damage well enough. 

She raised her hand to shield the light from her eyes, but it didn't do much good. 

In the courtyard, members of the Order had gathered around what looked like a tattered hat. A Portkey, she realized. Hermione, as anxious as she was to leave this week behind her, found herself reluctant to leave Draco behind. "Will you go home?" she asked him. 

He ran his thumb over her knuckles. "Probably not for a while." 

Her legs suddenly felt like lead while her head felt like smoke. And her heart— like always, it seemed— was a cracking shard of glass. "Where will you go?" 

He shrugged. The early light gave his pale face an ethereal, captivating glow. He pursed his lips as he considered his words. "I don't know," he whispered.

Hermione's breath hitched as she turned her attention back to the courtyard. "If you needed somewhere to go, I'm sure-"

"Hermione," he said, squeezing her fingers. "I'm not yours to worry about." 

The words hit her like a tidal wave. Truth, like the dawn, was a terrible fate. 

When the sun finally finished cresting over the horizon, Draco lifted his head and looked down at her. "Potter is waiting for you."

She nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on their intertwined hands. "Thank you," she whispered.

She took a step back and pulled her fingers away from his. For the briefest of moments, he tightened his grip and considered pulling her back to him.

But the sun had risen. He let her go.


End file.
